


A Nickel A Day

by MikeWritesThings (orphan_account)



Series: One Shots [9]
Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Fluff, Gen, Giving, Homelessness, attempt at fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-26
Updated: 2016-11-26
Packaged: 2018-09-02 07:27:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,444
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8657971
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/MikeWritesThings
Summary: This is the first time Peter sees the man near his house, with a shock of blond hair and blue eyes.Tino calls him a sad man when Peter asks about him, but Peter is still curious.So Peter asks him who he is.





	

Peter's been living in this house for four years, but he's sure he's never seen that man before. Skipping home from school was always his favorite time of the day, because he passed through the bustling city as he did so and got to say hi to everybody and appreciate the scenery. Peter may not seem like it, but he was the type of guy who stopped and stared to appreciate something pretty like a sunset or a tree filled with gold.

But there's a certain tree, a special tree, that Peter likes to look at, which he called "The Kissing Tree." It's a beautiful tree all year round-during the summer, it's leaves are full-blown green and waving daintily. In the fall, the leaves are striking colors of red and gold and orange and flutter gracefully to the ground. In the winter, it's branches are clear of leaves but pretty icicles hang from it. In the spring, it's one of the first trees to get it's leaves back.

And, it's directly in view of Peter's bedroom window all the way up on the fourth floor.

The Kissing Tree got its name because Peter knew he wanted his first kiss to be here. Whether it be rain or shine, winter or summer, he wanted it to be right here, right underneath this tree.

Peter stopped by it every day, to look at it-at the newly built birdnest and the eggs lying within it, the stored nuts that a squirrel he saw nearly everyday was stocking for the upcoming winter, for right now it was fall, and that meant Peter was once again coming home from school every day to stop at his favorite places.

First stop, that brand new cemetery. Right now, it was nearly empty, with barely ten gravestones in it. There were wildflowers growing around the fence, and no matter the day, even if it was shining, the cemetery seemed dark and cold and gloomy. Peter thought that was beautiful.

Next, the 'old' part of town. Where the paint was a little faded and the people older and the houses old-fashioned. There was a homely feeling to it as Peter walked through the streets, waving to the occasional bikers and people walking their dogs.

The very next place Peter went, was the lake. The lake was smack dab right in the middle of town and seemed a little out of place but it was really pretty in the afternoon when the sun made it sparkly. You could clearly see the bright fish looming under the surface.

And the very last destination was, of course, the Kissing Tree, before Peter crossed the street to his apartment building.

Standing underneath the tree and gazing up at the leaves, admiring the way the color changed smoothly from red to orange to the bright yellows on the outer layers of branches, Peter drew his gaze away to turn home-and was met with a brand new site.

It was a man, sitting there, a few yards from his apartment building on the sidewalk, looking like he hadn't moved in a million years, though Peter was sure he was not here this morning. This man did not seem at all old-he had bright yellow hair that seemed to defy all logics of gravity and had a toned body, underneath the heavy coat. His palm was facing up and he seemed to be offering it to people, and sat rather limply, though why he was sitting like that with his palm up, Peter didn't know.

Walking past the strange man, Peter stomped upstairs before getting to his floor and bursting into his apartment.

"I'M HOME!" Peter shouted to his fathers. Tino and Berwald both looked up from where they were standing over a cake Tino had baked the day before and both smiled-though Berwald looked terrifying.

"Good afternoon, Peter!" Tino greeted, setting the knife and plate he was holding down. He crossed the room to give Peter a hug like he did every day after school, pressing the young boy's face into his chest and smothering him, before releasing him.

"How was school?"

"Fine, Mama."

"Papa," Tino corrected. Ever since Peter was adopted by the couple, Tino had been insisting that Peter call him Papa and Berwald Dad, but Peter called Tino 'Mama' just to annoy him-though, Peter thinks, Tino secretly enjoys it.

"Can I have some of that cake? Peter asked, eyeing the delicious-looking treat lying innocently on the table.

"Of course!"

While consuming the delicious slice of strawberry cake, Peter thought of that man outside and looked up to Berwald, who was washing dishes silently.

"Papa? Who's that man outside?"

"What man?" Berwald asked in his heavy Swedish accent, looking back at Peter. Peter pointed towards the window.

"The man outside, sitting on the sidewalk. What's he doing?"

"I don't know what you're talking about," Berwald responded, and went back to doing the dishes. Peter pouted, before deciding to drop the subject and finish eating his cake. Because hey, it was cake!

The next afternoon, Peter sat under the Kissing Tree for a few minutes after returning from school and telling his Mama where he would be-he was currently trying to read a book his English teacher assigned the class. He glanced up every so often whenever a car horn was honked, and the third time he did so, he saw the man was back.

He was sitting on the same spot on the ground, palm held out, head tilted and eyes open this time. They were dull blue and he had dark circles beneath them.

Peter wondered why that man was sitting there and why all of the passing people were passing by him. Did nobody else notice the man? Was he, perhaps, invisible?

Peter watched the man for a few more minutes, and, not once, did anyone acknowledge him. But still, the young man sat there, palm held up, like he was waiting.

Soon, Tino came to get Peter for dinner.

"Mama, who's that man?" Peter asked, pointing at the spiky-haired man. Tino's eyes looked pitiful as he eyed him.

"That, Peter, is a sad man."

Peter didn't ask either of his parents about the man again.

The next day, Peter did his homework before jogging downstairs, telling Tino he would be under the Kissing Tree again. Though, in reality, Peter waited, underneath the tree, for the man to show up again. Hours passed, and he didn't show up. So, Peter walked back upstairs in disappointment.

The next morning, on his way to school, Peter passed the man, and this time, Peter stopped. The man was once again on the sidewalk, though now that Peter was getting a closer look at him, he could see exactly what Tino had meant.

The man was, indeed, in a way, sad. He was slumped over with his legs sprawled out and his head bowed, palm up, dark circles under his eyes and his cheeks hollow, lips cracked and the appearance of a once good-looking, healthy young man having suffered drastically in a short period of time.

But Peter was able to figure out what might make this man happy and not sad. So he dug inside his pocket, and extracted the only money he had-a nickel. A singular nickel, that he placed in the man's palm. Bony fingers closed over the nickel, and blue eyes opened to meet Peter's.

"Gud velsigne," he said, and smiled. He had a nice smile, though there was a crack in one of his teeth.

"You're welcome," Peter said, and turned on his heel and stomped his way to school.

It was Friday, and once again, Peter saw that man. At school, he had found a nickel, and now, instead of passing through all his favorite destinations, he raced to where the man sat. The nickel was now in a small cup next to him. It looked lonely in there, with it's only company a stray penny someone probably dropped. Peter placed the nickel in the man's hand-he wasn't even sure he was alive, he was slumped over so much-but was surprised when the man replied with another "Gud velsigne", not even looking up.

Upstairs in his small apartment, Peter pulled out his textbook and decided to ask his Papa,

"What does 'Gud velsigne' mean?"

"Where did you hear that?" Berwald asked, not looking up from dinner-he was focused very intently on chopping the head off of a fish.

"Outside," Peter said vaguely.

"I don't know what it means."

Peter smacked his head on his desk.

* * *

   
Every day that went by, Peter always placed a nickel in that man's hand. Each time, he'd hear that 'Gud Velsigne' and he'd feel a little proud of himself for doing something good.

Two weeks passed, and Peter decided it was time for him to ask that man what he was doing here.

So, late on Saturday afternoon, Peter sat across from him and waited for him to move.

It took a while, but eventually he lifted his head up, and Peter saw his eyes were a bright, sparkling blue and they were filled with good humor. Eyes like that did not belong begging on the street. They belonged in a family photo, that one cousin in the back that would be doing something obnoxious, like making funny faces behind his least favorite aunt. They belonged in warmth, and not this cold little corner in the winter air.

"What are you doing here?" Peter demanded. The man looked to the nickel in his hand, then to Peter, before saying,

"Gud velsigne."

"I don't speak that language," Peter snapped crossly, "I've passed by you every day and I want to know why you're here."

The man stared at Peter, before smiling. It was a small smile, a little smile like ones stolen from another.

"I'm here for my family," He said. His accent was strange and thick, definitely foreign.

"How are you here for your family? If you were here for your family, why aren't they here with you?" Peter questioned, wondering who in their right mind would sit out here daily with no human companionship.

"Because I ain't puttin' them in the shame to beg," The man answered, "I'll take all that shame myself, thanks, and carry it on m' shoulders."

Peter pondered this answer, wondering if it was viable, before deciding it was and then asking,

"What's your name? Mine is Peter."

"Matthias," The man answered at once, sliding the nickel around his palm. He placed it in his little cup. There were barely twenty nickels in there. Nearly a whole dollar.

Not enough for a family of any kind.

And Peter, not being able to handle his own pity and guilt, got to his feet and ran inside his apartment, not looking back at Matthias.

Sunday morning, Peter went with his friend Marco to church. He did it every now and then if he was bored with nothing to do, and now here he was, watching that basket with the money in it being passed around. He watched people put in tens and twenties, and his fingers twitched when he realized that Matthias didn't even have a dollar.

When the basket was passed to Peter, at the end of the row, shielded by his taller friend Marco, Peter did something risky-he took two twenty dollar bills from the basket, stuffed it in his pocket, and gave it to the woman in front of him.

On his way home, with Marco chattering beside him nonstop, Peter felt very guilty. He had stolen money from a church, from the hands of people who worked hard for it. It was weighing heavily in his pocket, though not as heavy as the guilt on his chest,

That's why, as soon as he reached Matthias, sitting on that sidewalk, he pressed the two bills in the outstretched palm, feeling as if he was passing his own guilt onto the older man, and bolted upstairs so he could cry.

Monday morning, same route to school as always. This morning, Matthias wasn't there, and therefore Peter was not reminded of his bad deed the day before. After school same route back, ending with him under the Kissing Tree. Though this time, there was a surprise.

Matthias sat there, under the tree, though something was different. He was in a wheelchair, and there were two boys beside him. One looked barely seventeen, with platinum hair and dead-looking blue eyes. One looked about ten years old, with silver hair and a hollow look to his face. Though, they were all gathered underneath the tree, and, with them, a single bag of McDonald's.

Peter stared in shock at the new occupants under his tree, under the Kissing Tree, and he wondered if these boys were his 'family' and when Matthias had gotten a wheelchair. But Matthias saw him standing there and beckoned him energetically over.

"Hey, Peter! Come here!" He called, and Peter shuffled forward nervously, eyeing the bag of food.

"Thank you, for the money," Matthias said, eyes bright and face split by a smile, and Peter felt the familiar traces of guilt rise through him, though he pushed them down when he saw the three of them, all smiling at him.

"I didn't know you were in a wheelchair," Was the only thing Peter could say.

"I didn't want to show off that fact. I try not t use sympathy when 'm beggin'," Matthias explained with a shrug, "Do you want to eat with us? I can spare my burger."

"No!" Peter shouted, and when he saw their shocked faces, he quickly shook his head, "No, no, that's your food, not mine. You should really eat."

"But-"

"In fact, my Mama and Papa have some cake upstairs at my house," Peter said over Matthias's voice, "I'm going to ask them if I can bring some to you."

And before Matthias could speak, Peter was running upstairs.

"Peter, what's the matter?" Tino asked, looking up from the TV. Peter stood in the doorway, panting, and he started crying as the guilt set in. Yes, it was bad that he had taken that money from the church, and even worse he gave it to a homeless man he barely even knew. But now that homeless man turned out to be handicapped with a family who were eating right underneath his Kissing Tree, and Peter just wanted to cry.

After telling Tino everything, Tino looked up at Berwald, eyes blank. Then, a smile crossed his face, and he told Peter,

"Why don't you invite them up here? I'm sure they would like a better meal than McDonald's."

**Author's Note:**

> this is an attempt at fluff for no reason other than fluff if it can even be called that


End file.
